The 17 (3 page)

Zack sprinted ahead and caught up with the others. Everyone was there except Mizuki.

“Of course the Jap chick would not be here with us when we have these slanty-eyed swords,” Harness spoke with ignorance.

Jenai shook and cowered against a tree. “Jesus. I hope I don’t die again.”

“You probably will,” Cass said. “I don’t like the looks of the bloody… things we’re gonna fight.”

Zack looked ahead through the trees and over a clearing. He could make out six figures near another crop of trees in the distance, milling about and no doubt planning their attack.

“Is this it?” Zack asked. He tried to calm his voice, but that was utterly unsuccessful. “Is this the hunt?”

“Man, noobs,” Harness said, shaking his head.

“Yup,” Zill said, patting Zack on the back. “This is it.”

They were all wearing black leather armor and metal helmets. Zack was surprised by how heavy it all felt on his gangly frame.

“What’s the plan?” Zack asked.

“The plan?” Harness answered in a chiding tone. “We kill ‘em. That’s the plan. I’m not going back to that crappy cell again for days and days. There are no freakin’ toilets in there. I have to piss like an animal in the corner.”

Harness slashed the air with his sword and began to run, screaming as he did. The others followed like well-trained drones, screaming as they punched the snow down behind Harness. The figures in the distance, startled, pulled their swords and rushed toward them, meeting in a mass in the middle of the snowy field. Zack watched as they fell, one by one, to the frozen ground, sprays of blood coloring the snow red. He couldn’t tell if his side was winning or not.

He heard the crunching of snow behind him. He turned to see a figure dressed in black with a helmet obscuring the face, sword drawn and pointed at him. The figure must have been eight feet tall with long arms, disproportionate to the body.

Then he heard a sound that could have been words, but sounding like none he knew.

“I don’t want to fight,” Zack said as he dropped the sword. It sunk into the freshly fallen snow. “Maybe if we don’t fight, they will let us go.”

The figure paused and lowered his sword for a moment. He heard more sounds that could have been words escape from behind the helmet.

“Can you understand me?” Zack asked.

It wasn’t long after he finished his query that the tip of the figure’s sword punctured his stomach. Zack didn’t even feel it slide into his gut, but he watched the blood spill out of him like water through a hole in a garden hose. It ran out of the wound and pooled on top of the snow, forming what looked like a red apple.

Zack slumped to his knees, and then fell onto his side, the figure standing over him, trembling. His vision was starting to fade when he heard the deep, bellowing voice of Harness before a sword slammed through the torso of the shaking figure before him. The figure fell to the snow right in front of Zack.

Zack could see through the mask into the eyes of the being that had killed him. His eyes were very much like his, welling with water and gazing with remorse and fear.

“Got’em!” Harness’ callous words were the last thing Zack heard.

†††

Zack sprang to a seated position, coughing up a mixture of saliva and blood. The blood on his stomach was dry and there was no opening from where it had spilled. Zack rubbed his hands over his chest and stomach and was relieved.

“I didn’t die this time.” Jenai excitedly exclaimed. Zack thought it a small victory for her.

He was glad he could help.

“What was that back there?” Harness said, pointing a thick finger at Zack’s face “Jesus, noob. We could have lost because of you. What are you? Some kind of pacifist or something?”

Zack tried to speak, but couldn’t. He surmised dying had a way of shrinking one’s vocabulary. He peered about the room, at the faces who stared down at him, some with concern, some with contempt, and wondered if it were real.

It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

He knew it was, however. Brock nodded at him and patted him on the shoulder. Cass shook her head and departed—
probably to put on more makeup—
and Mizuki sat beside him and wiped his forehead with a warm wash cloth.

“The first time is always the hardest,” she said. “We’ve all been through it.”

“Not me,” Harness blurted.

“No, Harness. Not you. You are awesome and the bomb.” Mizuki smiled at Zack and winked. “He needs to get knocked down a peg or two.”

“Whatever.” Harness beat a rapid retreat into the kitchen.

Zack guessed they had won. They were in a house again, but a different one. The sun roof above him was covered with snow and flames flickered and danced in a hearth on the far wall. The couch was comfortable, with throw pillows made of satin and lace and the floor was a rich mahogany.

“Where are we now?” Zack asked.

Zill, who had taken a seat beside Mizuki, shook her head. “I’ve given up trying to figure that out.”

“You need to rest.” Mizuki stood and disappeared down a hallway.

Zack and Zill sat on the couch, listening to the din of conversation coming from the kitchen. Zack could make out a few words like “loser” and “noob” and “waste” and knew the topic of conversation was about him.

“What the heck were you doing? Dropping your sword? Like, really?” Zill asked.

“It seemed like the right thing to do. He, or whatever, was scared. I could tell.”

“It doesn’t matter. God! We could have lost.”

Zack took a deep breath, grabbed a clean shirt and slung it over his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, don’t do that again. K?”

Zack couldn’t make any promises. They were trapped in a vicious cycle, like Sisyphus pushing the rock up the hill only to watch it roll back down again. This was purgatory, a no man’s land of death, rebirth and death.

Zack couldn’t see the purpose behind it. Maybe that was the point. Whoever they were, whoever had brought them here to this place, to do these things, were watching, grading, evaluating.

Maybe they were failing the test.

Part I

Chapter Three

Just Like Us

Zack blew gently on the steaming Hot Pocket, and then carefully took a bite. The reduced fat mozzarella cheese, signature pepperoni and tomato paste that oozed out of the garlic buttery seasoned unbleached enriched flour crust burned his tongue.

“Argh argh argh,” Zack mumbled. It was difficult to speak with his tongue sticking out. He waved his hand in front of it with great vigor in an attempt to cool it. The others, who were also seated around the rich mahogany dining table, laughed.

Except for Harness, who just glared coldly at Zack.

“Jesus Christ. He can’t even handle a damn Hot Pocket.”

Mizuki, who looked pale and ill, slapped Harness on the arm. “Give him a break. He’s only been here a couple of days. I thought what he did was brave.”

“It was bloody stupid,” Cass said as she cut her hot pocket with a fork and knife.

“It was …” Brock spoke and paused. Zack could tell he was thoughtfully searching for the proper adjective, “a unique tactic.”

Jenai, who had already eaten her Hot Pocket in what Zack estimated was two solid bites and a smaller nibble, added, “I’m just happy I didn’t die.”

Zill was curiously quiet. She poked at her hot pocket with a fork.

“What? You don’t want to give your opinion on Zacky Goody Two-Shoes?” Harness barked.

Zill glanced up at him from her pokes of her Hot Pocket sandwich, then back down. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” Harness was livid.

“Oh boy, here it comes,” Mizuki muttered.

“Yeah, you’re goddamned right it’s coming. Oh, it’s coming. What a band of losers. What a crappy bunch of losers you all are. Jesus. Don’t you know we’re never getting out of here, that these stupid Hot Pockets are the best things ever? We won! We win, we get Hot Pockets and a TV and a warm, soft place to sleep. We gotta win. We gotta … we gotta … goddammit.” Harness slammed both of his muscular, thick hands onto the table. The force of his thrust rattled the dishes and the glasses of assorted colas and sports drinks.

It also startled Zill.

She looked at him through slit, angry eyes and she displayed a very intimidating flare of her nostrils. “Harness, you are not helping. God!”

Harness’ face was turning red and a vein was popping and pulsating on his forehead. Zack would have chuckled if he wasn’t so fearful of his wrath.

“If I didn’t need you guys … if I could do it by myself. … goddammit!” Harness bellowed, stormed out of the dining room and disappeared down the hallway.

“Well, it wouldn’t be another day in paradise without a Harness outburst,” Mizuki quipped. “Hey, at least we have Hot Pockets, right?”

Zack giggled. Mizuki glanced at Zack and chuckled, too, giving him a wink.

It appeared Zack had made at least one friend in this hell or purgatory or alien world—wherever he and The Six, as he had begun to think of them, were. And he was grateful. He hoped he could be a friend to Mizuki as well.

Zill pushed air out of her mouth loudly, Zack thought it an attempt to make sure everyone who remained around the table heard her. It was so loud, Zack thought sure it would rattle the crystal chandelier that hung above them.

“Yes, Zill, we know. We know,” Cass jeered, taking a drag from her e-cigarette. “Everything is bullocks. Everything sucks. Whaaaa.”

Zill waved her hand in front of her face and let out an exaggerated cough. “Do you have to smoke? Can you not?! God! It’s so disgusting.”

“It’s an e-cigarette, you bloody moron. It’s just vapor, you twit.”

“Just shut up, Cass. Just shut up!” Zill held the fork so tightly in her right hand that her knuckles began turning white. She cocked her right arm back, paused for a split second and then thrust it forward. The fork tumbled out of her hand, end over end, and just missed Cass’ right ear. It lodged in the pewter wall behind her and vibrated like a diving board after a dismount.

Cass swiveled her head around to peer at it, and then back at Zill. Cass’ eyes were wide and her mouth agape in indignation.

Zack feared her wrath.

“Are you trying to kill me, skank?”

“So what if I was? You’d just come back anyway.”

Jenai watched with a nervous smile.

Brock fumed in his chair, his hands clasped together with his index fingers pointed up and pressed against his lower lip. Finally, Zack supposed, he had reached the end of his tolerance. He spoke in a deep, commanding voice. “If we’re being studied, we’re not setting a good example for the human race. We bicker. We ridicule. We belittle. We are everything that is wrong with our species and we are giving our captors no good reason to keep us alive.”

Zack knew Brock had a point, a very valid and obvious one. If they were under a microscope from aliens or God or some other deity he had never even fathomed, they were surely not leaving a good impression.

Zack’s eyes cycled through the others around the table, finally resting on Mizuki, who gave him a look that pleaded for him to just stay out of the way.

Sound advice.

Zill and Cass just peered down sullenly, as if scolded by their parents. Brock slid his plate loudly across the table, stood and towered over them. “We better get our act together and work as a team, or Harness will be right. We’ll be stuck here for an eternity.”

Brock strutted away, glancing over his shoulder at them with a dismissive look. He ambled into the living room and sank into the opulent leather couch. He grabbed a book—Zack couldn’t see the title—from the oak coffee table and began reading quietly in the light cast by the brushed nickel floor lamp.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Zill muttered.

Cass clenched her jaw and made a fist. Before he knew it, Zack was doing what Mizuki had warned him not to do with her eyes: he was intervening.

“Enough, okay? Just stop.” Zack made his voice as forceful as possible. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to find out who brought us here. I’d like to know why and how we get back home. Fighting each other isn’t going to accomplish that.”

Brock lifted his eyes from his book and smiled, then began reading again.

Jenai giggled softly.
When is she was going to make some microwave popcorn? She was enjoying the strife way too much.

Zill and Cass began to sulk, staring down at their half eaten and mushy Hot Pockets.

Zack had gotten their attention, at least. “I know I just got here and you are all disappointed in me for dropping my sword, but we’re in this together. For some reason we have been thrown together in this situation. I have to believe there is a reason and I have to believe there is a way out of it.”

Mizuki nodded. “He’s right, you know. Cass. Zill. Can you at least try to get along?”

Mizuki peeked at Zack out of the corner of her eye and smiled. She had broken her own rule and Zack approved.

Zack was a bad influence. “Yeah. C’mon. Who knows, you might find you’ll like each other.”

Zill and Cass tried to suppress a smile, but both failed.

“Yeah, I guess,” Zill said and held her hand out across the table to Cass, who stared at it, and then reached out and grabbed it firmly.

“Sure. Why bloody not”

“See. One big, happy family,” Mizuki said.

Brock had wandered back into the dining room and so had Harness, who was sweaty, and dabbed his neck and broad shoulders with a damp towel.

They all sat around the table now, united.

Zack wondered just how long that would last.

†††

Zack held a military canteen in his hands, camouflaged brown and tan. He shook it and could feel and hear water sloshing inside.

It didn’t take long for him to feel the full wrath of the sun that hung in a hazy blue sky almost directly above him, even though he wore a long white tunic and a headcloth secured with woolen coils.

Heat rose from the sand beneath his feet and he could see the air ripple at the surface all around him.

He couldn’t see the others, but he could hear the screams of Harness coming from the other side of a dune in the distance. Soon, Harness, wearing the same desert clothes as Zack, crested, followed by the others, who also wore the same garb. They marched toward Zack’s position.